Lost and Found
by rievene
Summary: AU. A young Lightning lives as a peasant on the street, without family nor friend to aid her in her homeless and starving state. Suddenly, a young boy by the name of Hope appears, treating her with a momentary kindness that she would remember for the rest of her life. Ten years later, they meet once more, the memory still fresh in their minds as each moment passes...
1. Prologue

**Hello!**

**I realize that I really shouldn't be writing a new story right now. But I've been working on Switched, and Lost Memories is on a hiatus...yes, finals are over **(_finally_)**, but I still haven't got any inspiration or gears winding in my head for Lost Memories. I'll be focusing on Switched and this one **(if I find out where it's going)**, and I apologize if any of you have been waiting for an update for the 20 Theme Challenge. I haven't had much time for it, and I may have forgotten about it somewhere along the way, hehe. I might have an update soon, but I'm not too sure.**

**Anyways, I've got so many ideas for this pairing that it's been really hard not to post a new story when I've got over ten fresh ideas roaming around in my head. New story ideas, dispersed here and there...I hope I can keep up with this one, though I'm not too sure which direction this is going in. ._.**

**I think I should let any readers know that this story is very AU, and takes place in the early 17th century, with a European-like setting. It'd be confusing if you read this and suddenly saw horses and chariots running around without some background information, wouldn't it? ^^;; Anyways, sorry for the rambling. Read on, and enjoy!**

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

The distant sound of horseshoes clapping against the soaked streets rang throughout the dreary, grey sky, the only real sound that could be heard outside of the pouring rain. As the man settled at the front of the chariot let out a lurid yelp and cracked the whip in his fingers, the horse leading the rather slow ride immediately sprang to life. It neighed unnecessarily loudly, the high-pitched noise resonating throughout the cold air as the horse started to trot, kicking off with a violent shake and causing rain to splash into a young girl's face.

A certain rosette, around the age of nine, sat huddled in the wet corner outside an unknown building. There was no way of confirming where she was; she was completely unaware of her surroundings, and in all honesty, it was the least of her concerns. The only thought lingering in her mind had been the incessant growling in her stomach, unsaturated hunger taking over her body and making her feel slightly sick.

She barely shuffled out of the way as the horse in front of her splashed an unpleasant wave of cold rainwater in her direction, hardly attempting to avoid the water as she was already soaked. The rain had been coming down for the past few hours, and each drop slid down the girl's face generously so. She used what little energy she had left to reach up and graze her cheek with her pale fingers—it still stung, the mark that had been left from when the merchant had struck her.

"_You little thief! If I catch you once more by my booth you'll end up with a load of bruises, and more than one next time - do you hear?_"

All she had wanted was a piece of bread. And yet, no one within the greedy little town had been generous enough to part with a single slice.

She shivered, finding enough room within her clouded thoughts to wonder if she was going to be able to live through the night. She had been wandering around endlessly for three days without food and barely enough water; the lingering doubt of survival remained as she rubbed her arms in an effort to keep herself warm.

It seemed like a cold, dreary hour had passed in silence, until the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the street, barely drawing the child's attention to the source of the noise. She was too busy resting her head on her knees and closing her eyes, trying to forget the growling in her stomach instead of looking at the noise. The footsteps, rapid and loud as unidentified soles slapped onto the wet pavement, gradually slowed down as they drew near.

For a moment, the footsteps stopped; there was no sound, until an audible "_psst_" hissed in the girl's ear.

She lifted her head from its previous position on the top of her knees and turned, startled at the unexpected sight: a boy around her own age was squatting down next to her, green eyes wide and alert as silver strands of hair framed his face. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but the boy immediately brought up a hand to her lips in order to prevent any noise from escaping her. "Shhh," he whispered, taking a glance over his shoulder before hunching over, perhaps in order to avoid being seen.

A distant shout echoed behind the two and away from the corner, and it was loud enough for the children make out the words over the pouring rain.

"Master Estheim! Master Estheim, where are you? Please, come back!"

The girl assumed that the so-called "master" had been the boy in front of her, and silently took in his appearance: a neat—though wet—blouse, layered with a vest and paired with pants underneath, probably tailored from expensive fabric. The word "aristocrat" immediately flashed in the girl's mind, and she wondered what he was possibly doing out in the cold streets like this.

A few minutes passed, and so did the pleading calls for the boy—they eventually faded so that they were barely audible, and once they were gone the boy let out a breath of relief, dropping his hand from the pink-haired child's lips and dropping his head momentarily to relax. He straightened up after a second or two, redirecting his attention at the girl and tilting his head to examine her more closely.

"Are you lost?" he asked. She shook her head silently, and could see his eyes flicker over her appearance; a faded, tattered, rough piece of cloth much too large for her thin frame, appearing to have been worn for around a considerable amount of time. Given her dirty hair and stained skin, it wasn't too difficult to see that she was probably a peasant, living on the streets like any other in their town.

The boy shuffled through his pocket, rummaging for a particular item of some sort. He pulled out a bundle wrapped in white cloth, with a single string holding it together—he tugged on it, revealing a loaf of bread and some cheese. He held it out for the girl to take. "Here," he said. "You must be hungry."

She stared at the object displayed in front of her, the smell and image foreign as she tried to register the fact that the food was, in fact, for her to eat. Without hesitation, she snatched the bundle from the boy's hand and started to eat.

She finished it in a matter of seconds, having devoured the food ravenously in her hunger.

"So you _were_ hungry," the boy said. "Why are you here? Were you running away from your parents?"

The child shook her head, but it was all she did—she gave no mention of any event in particular, nor her family. If she had one, that was.

"I see," the boy said. "I was running from my governess. She was giving me a lecture and dragging me around, but it was so mind-numbing that I had to get away. I can only take so many lessons about the history of Bodhum, you know."

The girl quietly listened as the boy continued to speak, stopping halfway through his words as he noticed her silence. "I'm Hope, by the way," he said. "What's your name?"

She murmured something, and he couldn't quite hear her exact words. "Sorry?" he said, asking her to repeat her words.

"...re," she said, speaking for the first time. "My name…it's Claire."

Hope tilted his head once more and examined her, looking at her face straight on for the first time—she had bright blue eyes, but the vivid color was almost muted by the amount of soot on her face and hair. He rummaged around in his pocket once more, taking out the cloth that had held the snack he'd given her.

"Here," he said, folding the cloth and bringing it to her face. Visibly startled, she leaned back, almost frightened—but he pulled away, simply smiling softly before bringing it back to her cheek. "You've got such pretty eyes. It's a shame they don't show very well under your bangs," he said, wiping the dirt off her face. In a few minutes, a noticeable amount of the soot was gone, replaced with pale skin and a slightly red nose from the contact against the somewhat rough white fabric. Claire raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the skin—it felt different. Her actions were stopped, however, as Hope raised a hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes to see them more clearly. "There we go," he said. "See? You look lovely."

Claire, however, was obviously stunned—a silver-haired boy had appeared out of nowhere and given her food, not to mention wiped some grit off her face. She didn't know what to say, and opened her mouth to try and speak in the midst of her puzzlement—but was brusquely cut off as a loud and somewhat muffled voice yelled out. Hope's governess was back.

"Oh, shoot," he muttered under his breath, taking a quick glance over the wall he was hidden behind. "That'll be Elise." He looked back at Claire, who was looking the slightest bit healthier in aura than before he'd come around. "I have to go," he said. He took something out of his pocket; another wrapped bundle, and stuck it in Claire's pale hand. "Here. That's everything I have to eat. You can keep it," he said. He gave her a small smile and, before she could say anything, he placed a warm hand on her head, stroking her pink hair momentarily before dropping his arm to his side.

"It was nice meeting you, Claire," he said. "I hope that's enough food. There's some more bread in there, but I haven't got any more. Maybe we'll see each other again." Another shout rang behind Hope, and he cringed at the level of volume that had suddenly risen at a painstaking level. "See you," he said, and got up from his seated position to dash out. He hadn't given the child enough time to thank him for the bread, but she sat motionless as his figure rapidly moved away, becoming smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the fog. She took a look at the parcel in her hands, and though with some hesitation, tugged on the ribbon wrapped around it.

Out of it fell bread, as Hope had promised, and it was a generous amount indeed.

She couldn't quite lay her finger on it, but something inside the small package felt a bit heavy. She turned the cloth that had wrapped around the food, only to hear a small _clink_ on the smooth sidewalk. Claire reached down to pick up the source of the sound, spotting a silver charm that lay in the now slowly residing rain. She pulled it closer to get a better look.

The trinket was shaped oval, and engraved curled patterns were dispersed freely across the surface. There was a single symbol right in the center of the charm—a small dove, each excruciatingly detailed feature carefully inscribed into the silver surface. Claire leaned in closer to see a miniscule ring resting at the top of the charm—it was a hole, made so that a chain would pass through it to form a necklace.

She silently gripped the pendant, holding it to her chest before looking back at the bread. She would save it for later, when she was hungry. She held back the temptation to eat the snack, knowing all too well that it would be smarter to have it last for when she really needed it. She would save something else, too…the pendant, as a way to remember the boy who had helped her one starving night on the street.

_The name's Hope,_ he'd said.

She would thank him one day.

She would remember.

And she would never, ever forget.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here's the long-awaited chapter! T****hank you to anyone who's followed or favorited this story after just reading the prologue! The story does seem a bit cliche, but I hope to have it turn into something a bit more unique later on.**

**I also mean to correct a bit of information that was presented in the previous chapter - this story doesn't take place in the early**_** 17th**_** century, it takes place in the mid-**_**19th**_** century, sometime around the Victorian Era. That's a pretty big gap right there, so I apologize if any of you out there were expecting something different.**

**I'm also pretty disappointed in the length of this chapter - it was originally a lot longer, but I had to cut it...the next chapter will be much longer, I promise. ^^;**

**With that in mind, enjoy!**

* * *

Throughout a vast, spread-out garden behind an average-sized home resounded sounds of metallic clinking, firm boots grinding against the dirt as two figures engaged in a turbulent battle with their respective backswords. Steel crossed steel, emitting more jarring scrapes and chinks as the roseate fought the taller of the two.

The long battle had been running for some time now, and both parties found themselves starting to run slightly out of breath. The woman, whose blue eyes were narrowed in concentration, lunged, barely missing her superior by a hair's breadth before he parried the move. Sweat beaded her forehead as they continued the skirmish, pink strands of hair beginning to stick to her forehead in the midst of all the action.

She gritted her teeth, having had enough of the prolonged fight—it had lasted for at least ten minutes, and she could feel her limit start to approach. She lunged once more at her opponent, only to stumble forward with no target to land her blade upon.

The woman's head darted left and right—her adversary had seemingly dematerialized, but the assumption was quickly cleared up as smooth steel made contact with her shoulder blade.

"Never let your guard down so easily, Farron. You should know that by now," said the voice, source standing abaft her own tall frame. She turned her head, only to be nudged forward with the blade to drop her own weapon. "All right," she said, promptly lifting her hands in surrender. "You win."

The backsword remained a hair's breadth from the woman's shoulder for a moment, finally disengaging itself from her body and coming to a rest at its owner's side once she had complied with his wordless demand. The man, most likely in his mid-forties, paused—then broke into a small chuckle, retrieving a glass of water from the maid who had been standing by the whole time. She silently offered a glass from the tray she was holding. "Thank you," said the taller of the two, taking the cup to down the water. The maid simply curtsied and scurried out of the way to grab some towels.

"You're improving on your defense, though your attacks are a bit too brisk," the man said. "Try practicing with a little less force in your lunges." The woman nodded, making a mental note to do so.

The man stole a glance at the small clock resting upon the table in the garden, his expression quickly forming into one of visible surprise at the position of the hands on the face. "Well, that's that," he said. "Be sure to practice—and take a break every now and then." He smiled. "Anyways, you did a nice job today, Lightning. I'll look forward to our next lesson."

Lightning brought her hand to her shoulder, forearm straight and over her chest—the signature salute of the Bodhum Police, addressed towards those of higher rank. "Yes, sir," she said. She immediately made to grab her bag once she sheathed her blade, slinging the band over her shoulder as she did so.

"Sergeant Amodar?" Lightning said, turning back once more. He looked up from the towel that dangled around his neck, eyebrows slightly raised in question.

"…Thank you," Lightning said, lingering a moment before offering the expression. Amodar simply grinned, providing a nonchalant wave of the hand in response.

"Anytime."

* * *

As soon as Lightning had pushed through the doors of the pub, the familiar smell of gin and ale clung to the air, and she involuntarily scrunched her nose at the smell. An ivory-haired woman raised her head from the counter at the sound of leather clicking against the wooden floor.

"Nice to see you back," she said idly, wiping the last of the counter clean. She quickly folded the stained towel, patting the rugged surface of the bar before she set the rag aside. "How was practice?"

"Fine," Lightning responded, setting her bag aside on the counter as she sat herself.

She immediately dug around the bag, inserting a wandering hand amidst the contents of the cluttered satchel as she searched for the objective in mind. After a moment, the sensation of something cool grazing against her palm caught onto her senses, and her fist closed around the object—a little more than ten of them, to be exact. Right as she withdrew her hand did a glint of gold coruscate between her fingers, and the bartender cracked a grin at the sight.

Lightning set the coins loose, allowing them to scatter freely over the countertop for the brunette to see.

Lebreau smiled, silently taking count of the number of rotund pickings before looking back up at her friend.

"Fifteen?"

Lightning simply nodded. "Keep them in the usual place, will you?"

As Lebreau disappeared behind the counter to store Lightning's pay, Lightning retrieved a cup of water, elbow resting against the bench as she set the chalice down.

It had been two years since Lightning had been invited to settle in at the brunette's meager home, accepting the offer (albeit the initial reluctance) after joining the Bodhum Police Department. Having absolutely no connection to the fair-skinned, yet somewhat impish woman prior to the unexpected proposal had commenced an immediate "no" from the policewoman, but Lebreau had somehow convinced her otherwise. Lightning had, after all, had nowhere to reside in at the time, despite her new hiring.

"Hey, Light?" Lebreau called out from behind a shelf.

"What?"

"So…" Lebreau crept from behind the wooden frame, sauntering her way over to her roommate. The barely-there skirt flounced as she walked, doing a feeble job of covering the sententious shorts that lay underneath—yet, contrary to first impressions, Lightning had grown accustomed to the close-fitting outfit as time had passed for the duration of her stay.

"…One of my buddies who works two blocks over told me that she and her girls were going to crash a party," Lebreau said, a smile immediately tugging at her lips.

Lightning, having no interest in get-togethers nor anything of the sort, barely made an effort to conceal the monotony crossing her pale features. She downed the last of her water and set the cup on the table, taking one last look at Lebreau before left her seat.

"Have fun," she said blatantly, and Lebreau rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Light. You don't need me to spell it out, do you?"

Lightning sighed. "You want me to go."

Lebreau nodded, stray strands of ivory dancing around her thin face as she grinned. "You know, there _is_ such a thing as working too hard. You've been getting home pretty late for the past few weeks, and there's nothing like a good old party for you to relax in."

Lightning raised an eyebrow in evident query—_typical Lebreau logic_, she thought. Parties in Bodhum were, she knew, anything but relaxing. The typical Bodhum revelry consisted of loud noises, heavy liquor, and a handful of other factors that Lightning preferred to categorize into her general list of things that gave her headaches.

…Yet a part of her had an inkling that her underdressed friend might not have meant the usual gathering for "commoners", as the blue-blooded aristocrats liked to label those of her ranking. Frequent parties held by patricians would occasionally be gatecrashed by low-class citizens who dared to take the risk of being caught. Though Lightning had never personally attended such an event, she was cognizant of the stakes.

"…You're talking about a nobleman party, aren't you?"

Lebreau snorted, palm freely supporting her chin against the countertop as she leaned forward. "What else would I be talking about? I wouldn't be crashing a party if it involved one of _our_ people, I'd be hosting it."

Lightning shot her an incredulous look. "Have you forgotten that I work for the police? If I get caught, that's an immediate end to my career, and those coins I just brought in will be the last you'll ever see." Lebreau simply sighed in exasperation.

"Seriously, Light. I've gone to dozens of these, and there's already been a plan laid out for the whole occasion. Do you really think I'd let you get caught? Live up a little."

"I won't let you undermine the worth of my occupation for some party, Lebreau. I worked hard for this, and I'm not going to ruin it by attending some four-hour social event that could potentially make me lose my source of living." And with that, Lightning plucked her bag from the countertop, throwing it over her shoulder and strolling over to the other side of the bar to the exit. The door was pushed open, and she headed up the narrow staircase, straight for her room.

Lebreau silently watched, brushing her fingers through her hair as the echoes of her friend's footsteps faded into the distance.

* * *

Once Lightning was done tugging her shoes off, she set her feet down firmly onto the tiling, causing the pendant hanging off her neck to swing back and forth, slightly bumping her collarbone in the process. This drew her attention, and she proceeded to stare at the engravings on the silver for a brief moment before straightening back up again.

She reached for her vest, undoing each button before stripping down to her pants. She tugged, causing the fabric to glide down her skin—she couldn't help but silently appreciate the value of the textile, despite her relatively paltry position in the police department. It was one of the few perks of her job that she'd come to appreciate, subsequent her initial hiring.

Once she'd fully changed and washed up, Lightning eased into her bed, shifting onto her side and feeling the warmth within the rough sheets—her eyes came to a gradual rest, complying with the nagging word at the back of her mind, _sleep_.

And sleep, she did.

* * *

Numerous department bases were stationed all over the vast town of Bodhum, and Lightning found herself thanking whatever unnamed deity had watched over her city for the past twenty (soon to be twenty-one) years of her life that her post was located a mere ten minutes' worth of a walk away from her home. Both she and Lebreau had been granted the mutual occurrence that their jobs required very minimal or no travel at all—fortunate, Lightning thought, considering that they had no practical form of transportation, and consistently paying money to wave a coach over whenever the situation called was out of the question. As she drew closer and closer to her destination, she quickened her pace, weaving her way in and out through the mass of people huddled in the street. Men attempting to sell whatever they had in their carts were yelling fervently at passersby, most of them either being women or unsuspecting children whilst shopping.

Each footstep taken drew Lightning closer and closer to her destination, and after a few minutes, her eyes had elevated to rest upon the outlying entrance of a caramel-colored brick building. A sign lay plastered overhead the doorway, reading "BODHUM POLICE DEPARTMENT (POST #4)".

As soon as the door swung open, the welcoming peace and quiet drew her in almost immediately. The set walls of the relatively widespread station blockaded the noise, providing a rather palliative effect on Lightning as the entrance closed shut behind her.

"Right on time, Farron." Her head darted to the source of the voice, eyes slightly softening as they came to a rest on the figure standing before her. Numerous officers meandered back and forth within the station, but she paid them no heed as she made to greet her superior.

"Sergeant Amodar."

"You'll be standing company for another scene over on the east coast of Bodum today," said the sergeant, flipping through a thin book in hand as he approached his subordinate. "It seems as though there's been a traffic accident involving a clumsy coachman and a couple of injured passengers." The book closed shut, and Lightning was rewarded with a minute smile. "Of course, you'll be able to handle that, won't you, Farron?"

Lightning returned the smile somewhat hesitantly, nodding in response. "Certainly, sir."

"Lightning!" A voice barked. Lightning turned, sighing at once as her eyes found their target. "What?"

A man, perhaps in his early twenties, stood by a nearby doorway. The front of his uniform was ornamented with an array of badges, and brown tufts of unnaturally sleek hair stuck out wildly in every direction under his cap. His eyes were narrowed in a fit of some sort of keenness, though leaning more towards agitation rather than interest.

"What do you want, Naghi?"

"We're heading off in about three minutes. Get your equipment ready, and don't forget your identification badge."

"Yeah, yeah," Lightning muttered under her breath. "Keep your pants on."

Lightning situated herself by the wall lined with closets, hitching a spare revolver by the belt and reaching for a thin, wooden club in the process. She eyed the club with disdain, drawing back to her previous lesson the other day regarding the broadsword; her fingers involuntarily twitched in their desire to fulfill the lacking reverie, but she was well aware of the need in slight modification in terms of standing in order to be permitted use of such a weapon.

She reluctantly strapped the club to her belt, firmly tugging her cap on once she was done.

_Time to get to work._


End file.
